New neighbors were always a surprise. Moving trucks, loud conversations, new people in general. You never know who your new neighbor is gonna be. A murderer? Maybe a family with rowdy kids who lose their ball in your yard?

The day you met Keigo, well, it wasn’t really him. It was his kid. Keigo was carrying groceries on either arm, a small boy following with a chocolate bar in his hands. He had waved at you, a mouth covered in chocolate curled into an innocently blissful grin. Keigo apologized with a sheepish look—his son is going through that phase where everyone’s a friend. You understood.

It happened more often after that. Small, polite, greeting every time we see each other, but always in a rush to something. A commission meeting, patrol, picking his son up from a school or simply needing to get something done before a nap. Keigo was tired, but he tried to be neighborly when he could.